IntroVerse 1This Old House, Once Stood Proud On A HillOf Pine And Cedar From The LandCut By My Father’s HandAnd Hauled Up From The MillNow She Stares At Her Life Spread On The LawnAt Strangers Picking Through Her BonesThey Take Them For Their OwnAnd Haul Them Far AwayAnd The Auctioneer He Sings His Songs And The People PayOld Voices Echo From This House Now Dark And GrayAnd Cold As Island ClayInterludeVerse 2This Old Farm, Eighty Acres Of LifeSweat And Iron-Reddened SoilPaid Little For My Toil But Saw Us Through All RightTill The Company CameAnd Bought Land Up All RoundSoon The Market Prices FellI Took Another Loan And Plowed It UndergroundBut Tomorrow Morning They Will Come And Have Their WayThough Their Hands Touch Not The Soil And Never Will PayThe Price Of Island Clay.InterludeVerse 3These Old Hands, Turned The Sod And Tossed The SeedThese Hands Worked Hard And They Were StrongBut They Couldn’t Hold A Printed Paper DeedAnd From The Moment That They Signed This Land AwayThese Old Hands Are Getting Colder Every DayAs Cold As Island ClayOutro
